Midnight Bloom: Lunar Eclipse Series, #1

Dedication: Thank you to my children who always inspire me to push my creativity to new levels and to my husband who is always there to love and support me. To my grandmother who inspired my love of books when I was young. To all my family and friends who are simply amazing.

Chapter one

Here we are God, yet again. Eyes upturned towards the gaudy popcorn ceiling on yet another sleepless night. After tossing and turning for hours, my thoughts are continually sucked in and out of a vortex of emotional hell. Stephan and I had another fight right about the time normal people should be sleeping. Funny how fourteen years together can make the love you feel for your husband wax and wane. My head is spinning, conflicted with so many competing emotions. In the end, they all lead to one constant─ feeling unfulfilled and disconnected. For years, it has felt like we just don’t quite fit anymore, no matter how much we really do love one another. Being a closet romantic at heart, I can’t help but find this little hidden part of me longing for an epic kind of love.

However, when those desires hit, they are quickly followed by guilt, anger and a session of self-berating for allowing my thoughts to stray down a disappointing and possibly dangerous path. Logic kicks in, and tells me that I should be happy with what I have, that I am happy enough, and need to let go of childish longings. But, can complacency really last?

Love has never been easy for me, and a difficult topic that I’ve always struggled to accept, express, and understand. For as long as I can remember, my mind has been perplexed by this notion of a deep-rooted connection; yet somehow my heart continues to yearn for it. The only unwavering love that seems to get through my thick skull is the one I know for my children. My love for them is endless and patient; there is nothing they could do to weaken that feeling. As for the strength of the love for my husband? It depends on which way the wind is blowing. I love him, of course, but loving someone and being in love are two different things. Yes, that sounds bad, but it’s the truth. Never have I experienced a deep, passionate love that was life altering or strong enough to withstand the tests of life.

That’s not the only issue that has plagued me throughout the years, emptiness has as well. It’s always felt as if there is a hole in the center of my heart, that there is something more within myself that’s missing a crucial link. It’s right there- on the tip of my tongue, just out of my reach, pushing through the layers of my subconscious. Yet, it slips through my fingers the minute they brush past it.

Here we go again, brain, I think to myself as my thoughts are plagued with this nonsense. Round and round we go with my short comings. It’s a frequent intrapersonal monologue that takes me to a dark place, threatening my happiness. I refuse for now. Kicking the covers off so the cold air shock me back into reality, I pull my aching body up from the warmth of my husband and cozy bed to go downstairs for some boob tube. Maybe the droning of some terrible but entertaining reality TV will calm my nerves and let me relax enough to sleep. The ridiculousness of reality TV has a time and place; like now, when you need a good train wreck to distract you from the spiral you may be flirting with.

A bowl of chocolate Cheerios and some Real Housewives of Atlanta later, my nerves have calmed and the little voice in my head has shut up for now. Stupid brain, stupid emotions! So not going there again! It’s already 3:00 AM, and I need to sleep since work, kids, and responsibilities don’t care about my restless nights. The lack of proper rest wreaks havoc on my immune system. I really do not want to get sick again; it seems like I’m always getting sick. As Guy Fieri embarks on another food adventure, tasting exquisite cuisines from hole in the wall joints, sleep finally beckons… back to bed for another attempt. It’s all that my body can do to make it up the stairs and back to bed. I’m pretty sure I fall asleep before my head hits the pillow.

A beautiful starlit beach surrounds me as my bare feet find their way along damp sand. Warm creep up, gently lapping over my feet as I struggle to hold my long summer dress up from the water. My wide eyes bounce around not spotting another soul around; this must be another dream… The feeling of sand between my toes is glorious, and the smell of saltwater in the air is so real that it dances on my tongue. Continuing to journey down the sandy coast, I pick my way along sea shells and other washed-up treasures. My entire being is calm and submerged within the wonder of this fantasy state. Looking up, a few twinkling lights off in the distance give the sense that I have wandered far off from civilization.

As my curiosity is drawn back to the treasures at foot, a gentle breeze picks up and carries on around me. It caresses my face and moves through the few loose tendrils of hair around my neck, running a shiver through me. The breeze suddenly, and unnaturally shifts, bringing with it a strong scent of musk with hints of cedar and sweet tobacco. The smell reminds me of someone I once met, but can’t pinpoint who; it’s wonderfully masculine and robust. Soft, sand dampened footsteps fall immediately behind me. Startled, I turn around and find myself face to face with a beautiful, shirtless man with bronzed skin that looks like it was kissed by the sun. His long, wavy, dark hair dances around the tops of his broad shoulders. I can’t breathe… he is dazzling with his piercing blue eyes, chiseled jaw, chiseled… everything. It’s as if every muscle was defined to perfection by the hands of master craftsmen. We know each other. Somehow, this is familiar; my body responds without my permission. Dropping the lengths of the dress, I step forward into his arms, into his warmth. He feels like home, and that gaping hole in the center of my heart immediately swells closed. Strong hands come up and around me, forcibly bringing me in closer, claiming me like I am his. The embrace is powerful, as if we have not seen each other in years, and we are finally reuniting after an incredibly long time apart. His lips brush along my cheek before quickly moving to meet mine. The hunger in his kiss devours my senses; his touch sends electric pulses throughout my body, stirring dormant parts to life. Needy fingertips weave into my dress, awakening something deep within that quickly becomes all-consuming. There is no getting enough of this, ever. Urgency builds between us, and I begin to ache for him to be closer. Breathy gasps escape my throat as he reaches up, and runs a hand through my hair. The other cups my ass as tender, yet tortuous kisses trace the contours of my neck. As he reaches the base, he stops suddenly and buries his face into me in agony. My name falls from his lips in a deep, mournful tone. He’s still holding me, yet frantically calling my name like he’s looking for me… as if I am suddenly lost once more.

Sasha!

What the hell is going on; this makes no sense… hello, I’m right here… in your arms!

Sasha!!

No, this isn’t happening! No...no… no, I sob as the realm of my dreams slips away and I come crashing back into reality.

Sasha! Stephan’s voice booms up the stairway from the downstairs office. You need to get up and get the boys from school; it’s time for my meeting and I need to leave! Damn it, Damn it, Damn it! One of the wonderful conveniences of having a husband who works primarily from home… there is never a minute of privacy! The clock is glaring 2:00 PM; unfortunately, it’s time to start my day─ but a cold shower is in order first. Dragging my butt to the bathroom, I do the quick tits, pits, and ass (TPA) soap-up. I don’t know what’s worse- scintillating dreams like that…or rudely being yanked from one when you’re deep in. What the heck was that about? Why do I feel guilty? It was just a dream. IT WAS JUST A DREAM! A really good dream that felt... familiar. If it was just a dream, then why does my heart ache with longing all of a sudden? It’s as if I am back to missing out on something that is meant to be. Or, perhaps that’s what late night snacking, and reality TV will do to a girl’s head.

After quickly dressing in some jeans and a warm, cream V-neck sweater, I throw my wet hair up in a bun, add a couple swipes of mascara, and head out the door. As a night-shift nurse, my days and nights are a bit bass-ackwards in relation to the larger percentage of society. When it comes to my days off, I find it hard to keep a normal schedule; late night TV surfing and sleeping past noon have become the normal. My husband is able to work from home most days and usually picks up the kids so I can sleep, but occasionally, he has meetings he has to attend. Pulling up to the school without a minute to spare, my car falls in line with the rest of the parents for pick-up.

Looking up, I see my twin boys barreling past the teachers who are lecturing them to slow down, but it is too late to get them to listen to anyone. They saw me the minute they emerged from the door and high-tailed it toward the car like two bats out of hell. What else do the teachers expect from nine-year old boys who have been cooped up in school all day? Guys, slow it down please! My voice chases after them through the open window just to appease the teachers. I respect their dedication and hard work. Lord knows that I don’t have the patience to spend all day trying to teach grade-school kids who can barely sit still in their seats and pay attention. Plus, I’m a bit too sympathetic with kids who don’t want to be told what to do; I can’t stand that either. Teachers are amazing.

Mom! Ethan took my seat! Aiden exclaims.

Yeah, and you hit me earlier on the playground, so I’m gonna sit where I want! Ethan yells back.

And it begins. Why didn’t I grab that last cup of coffee in the pot on my way out the door?

Guys, please stop; everyone in your own seats, or we won’t stop by Subway on the way home to get you a snack. Bribes. I’ve come to love bribes as a parent.

Okay, we’ll be good, but can I get a soda? Ethan, my little negotiator, asks.

What do you think the answer is to that? I say.

No, I hear in unison.

I try to make them eat well when possible. There are going to be plenty of times in the future that they will make bad food decisions, so while under my rule, I’m not as forgiving. Plus, a sugar rush after school makes getting them to focus on completing homework something that makes me want to stick a fork in my eye.

∞

Bellies satisfied, all three of us are parked at the kitchen table ready to tackle some third-grade homework. This shouldn’t be too bad. My boys are smart, and it helps that they are the oldest in their classes due to missing the October cut-off for birthdays. The trick is keeping them focused long enough to finish. That reminds me, I should start planning their birthday party that’s coming up early next month; school will be letting out soon for Christmas break, so the invitations should go out to their friends before school ends.

Mommmmm, are you paying attention? I need help with my math homework! Aiden whines impatiently as his anxious feet kick at the table leg.

Yes, Aiden, let’s start from the beginning. Who am I kidding, I’m the one who needs to focus.

An hour later, they are engrossed in their allotted, and much coveted, video-game time as I hurry to throw together dinner before having to get out the door to work. Looks like leftovers and a salad tonight. Cooking is a passion of mine, just not while in the middle of my shifts at the hospital. I try to have meals pre-made and ready, but it doesn’t always work out that way. Thank God for my eyes being bigger than my stomach, helps this momma always make enough to feed an army. Three males in the house will also make a woman prepare food in excess; you never can fully predict the amount three men can consume in one sitting.

Daddy’s home! The boys happily call out, followed by the stampede of little feet headed for a daddy wrestle session. Stephan is great with the boys; he pretty much always has the energy to play with them no matter what his day was like. He also has unprecedented patience. I have learned over the years to develop some form of patience, but it is still a struggle at times. While putting the finishing touches on dinner, Stephan walks in looking like a tornado hit him. His hair now loosely resembles a mohawk, and his clothes are mussed and wrinkled. I can’t help but smile. Even in this sloppy state, he is handsome; his mother’s genes dominate his features, and he has a smile that lights up a room. Stephan bends and plants a kiss on my cheek.

You get enough sleep? He asks, hesitantly.

I really never know how to answer this question as it is mostly a no, but try not to sound so negative all the time.

Meh, it took forever to fall asleep as usual. How was your meeting? I say, trying to change the pointless subject.

It was good; pretty sure we closed on a big account that we’ve been working on for a while. What’s for dinner? Oh, and did you remember that I have a dinner meeting tomorrow night?

Ah yes, the corporate finance manager who is forced to swoon clients by night as well. I work, remember? No one would trade shifts with me. You will have to call the sitter, my voice edges. He never can remember my schedule since he got promoted into this new position- nor does he seem to try, even when I write it down on the big calendar in the kitchen.

I’ll call my mom instead; she has been asking when would be a good time to come over and spend an evening with the boys.

Good, he solved a problem all on his own. Perfect. I need to go get ready. Dinner is on the table, and please have the boys help clean up after! I smile and head for the bedroom.

Si, mi amour, he calls after me.

When we have been fighting, my ability to deal with his male brain is even thinner than normal. It is good to hear that his mom will be with the boys tomorrow night; I really love his mother. She is an eccentric, fiery, Columbian woman who loves old French movies, food, and the many volunteer causes she immerses herself in. Mrs. Green is a force who moves a room the minute she walks in. She is intelligent, witty, and has an infectious laugh. The boys adore her. Lately, she’s been too busy with volunteer work to visit, so I’m glad that she will be spending the night here with the family. Mrs. Green moved out here from San Francisco to be close to us after Stephan’s father passed last year. He was a strong military man whose heart couldn’t handle all the career stress. It’s a shame that he was lost before his time. Stephan was named after his father and looked up to him greatly. He hasn’t been the same since the loss of his dad.

Rummaging through my closet like a mad woman, a curse escapes me. The cubby for my scrubs is completely empty. Double crap. Hightailing it to the dryer to search for good news, a flood of relief takes over when I realize that my mom brain did think far enough ahead to wash work clothes. Scrubs aren’t very flattering, but they are comfy and I don’t want to cry when someone throws up on them. Quickly running back to my room to change, the clock ticks an ominous tone in the background. Time management is rough, is there ever enough of it? A quick glimpse in the mirror gives me an assessment of what damage control is needed… time to break out the blow-dryer and touch up the makeup. With my lunch packed, coffee in hand, kisses and hugs dispersed, I am on my way.

Chapter two

Walking into such a stressful job, saying silent prayer for a decent night quietly to myself has become a ritual. I like what I do, and love my work crew, but am getting burned out on the three-ring circus; especially its politics. St. Mary’s Community Hospital is the place I have the pleasure of calling my work home, right on our medical surgical floor or as we call it- med-surg. Being situated in the heart of a big city, our hospital takes care of a plethora of different human varieties. Our unit especially is the crapshoot-catch-all for the hospital. Do you need a psych medication adjustment? Need to withdrawal from drugs or alcohol? Broke a leg? Asthma exacerbation? Heart or lungs backing up with fluid? Had a quick surgery and just need to stay one night for observation before going home? You’ve come to the right place, and we’ve got room for more! At least this job is never boring, and forever keeps all of us on our toes.

Hey Sasha, have a good few days off? Nico calls down the locker room. He’s a good nurse, and quite popular with our lady patients. Pretty sure a few of our regulars even proposed to him last week.

Sure did. I was just beginning to feel relaxed, then I walked in; it looks like we have some really sick people with us tonight. Superstition forces me to tread lightly, not wanting to jinx us.

Yup, we sure do, he replies quietly, getting my drift.

Let’s hope that no one codes tonight, meaning that their heart stops, and we attempt to bring them back from the dead. With this many acutely sick people on one floor, stuff like that tends to happen. Grabbing my stethoscope, I head down the hall to the nurses’ station to get report. Glancing at the nightly assignments, my lips quirk in a smile as my eyes flit over the name of my favorite patient. Yes! Mr. Rosen, who is a 70-year old version of Buddy Holly, has become a fast friend. He is dressed to the nines at all times (as he refuses the typical hospital gown), has manners that all men could learn from, and a smile on his face whenever anyone walks into his room. He is the most cheerful and pleasant person one could ever meet. Unfortunately, my precious friend has been here for weeks with heart failure and is just too sick to go home. Anytime he tries to get out, he ends up right back here. We lovingly tease the old bird often, telling him that he’s purposely faking being sick because he misses us. Truth is, he will die soon from his condition. He knows it, yet makes the most out of everyday despite being locked in by four walls. It is inspirational.

Whenever there’s a few extra minutes to spare, I like to take him for wheelchair rides to explore the different units and offer a change of scenery. When weather permits, he prefers to go outside to sightsee around the perimeter of the hospital and through the little community garden just off of the parking lot. Even at night, the garden seems to bring him peace. Sometimes, we even sneak down the back elevator to the newborn unit to see the babies. He enjoys looking at the newborns and making up life stories for every one. It’s as if he is writing an autobiography for each precious new life just as their story is beginning. He loves our little trips. We chat about movies, books, and art. Mr. Rosen is more of a British-classic fan when it comes to literature, and while I prefer more modern text, I can still keep up with him. Well, maybe tonight won’t be so bad.

Code blue! Room 20! Code blue! Room 20! The intercom sounds off just as I begin to get report from one of the day nurses. Shit. Spoke too soon, I think as my feet take off down the hall. Grabbing the crash cart and steering it toward room 20, another prayer whispers under my breath. This patient is new to me, so let’s hope the day nurse gets there fast to give us the low-down. Passing Mr. Rosen’s room on my way to the code, the scent of a man’s cologne tickles my nose: sweet, yet musky. Huh, that’s not the usual cologne that he bathes himself in every morning. Why do I know that smell? No time to let my mind wander.

Rolling up to Room 20 to park the crash cart in place, the charge nurse comes over to the cart and temporarily leads the code. A few of us line up to help with compressions as the charge nurse starts to run things until the doc arrives. The room is filling up with staff. Codes are always congested with necessary and unnecessary staff, and while we usually don’t mind having onlookers, it gets hard to move around when you all are knocking elbows. If you are not here to jump in with compressions or bag the patient, I need you to get out and make room for the docs when they get here! My charge nurse, Lisa, yells. God, I love her- a very practical, no-nonsense lady. My turn. Jumping onto the stool, my hands position over the sternum, and begin to compress the chest with all that they have to give. The patient is an older gentleman and looks frail despite his girth. I fall into a rhythm counting to 30. The body does a lifeless, doll-like flop along with the lifesaving maneuver; it’s always disturbing when that happens. Shit, there goes a rib, I think as the chest wall reverberates with a little crack, followed by the slight release of bone under my hand. Breaking ribs is just part of what happens as we have to push hard to compress the chest deep enough to get the blood pumping. It’s still not as disturbing as the lifeless body flopping. Damn, still no heartbeat. The next staff member is up, and it’s time for me to take a break. Quickly getting out of the way, the next person hurriedly gets into position. My arms hurt, and I’m out of breath. No biggy, my mind chirps as I shake them out, trying to release the cramping. The doc runs in, and she starts calling off orders as we all fall into line, working as a well-oiled machine, doing all that we can to bring back this poor man. After about 30 minutes of hammering on his chest, forcing his airway open, and slamming in medications, we finally get a heartbeat, yes! Let’s get him to the unit! the doc calls out. We got it, two of the dayshift nurses respond and start getting everything ready to move him to the ICU. This means that even though this poor man will be bruised to hell, have a lot of pain from the broken ribs, a possible anoxic hit to the brain and could crash again at any time as he is medically unstable, he will live for now. Hopefully, he will be conscious soon and get to see his loved ones.

Time to go see my patients and get busy in order to take my mind off of this event. It’s always rough on a person’s psych to try and bring someone back from the dead, never knowing if they will survive it for long. All the while, mentally balancing everyone else’s needs in your care. The world doesn’t stop and compartmentalization becomes key. In that room someone just tried to die, in the next another may be in pain. Next to that one? Perhaps someone who’s experienced the most traumatic event of their lives and needs a compassionate ear. Every patient has a story and we try to be there for them to the best of our abilities. Events like this also serve as a reminder on how short life really is, and how fast it can slip away.

Quickly rushing off to finish report and to start rounds, I steel myself for the fact that all of the scheduled evening tasks will be behind. Ugh. At least we brought that one back for now, and my assignment for the rest of the night is pretty good. Only starting with four patients ensures that if there is new admission, it will probably be mine. So, since I need to hustle and catch up in the event that that happens; we will save Mr. Rosen for last as he loves to talk and is the most understanding when we are running late.

∞

Gathering up the last of what is needed for Mr. Rosen, my heart feels a bit lighter as I leave the nurses station and head down the hall to his room. Nearing the door, that smell of an odd, yet familiar, cologne hits again. That’s weird, huh. Opening the door to rush in and see my Buddy Holly incarnate, his warm smile and big, black-framed glasses turn my way in the world’s best greeting. The smell from the hall is alarmingly strong inside the room, permeating every corner. Searching for the source, a large, dark figure looming over the window while talking on a cell phone with his back toward me catches my eye. Instantly, by being is drawn to him. He is speaking low in a language that I’ve never heard before; I can’t put my finger on what part of the world it possibly comes from. It sounds like it could be Turkish or Syrian, but I’m not sure.

Well, there is my favorite young nurse! Mr. Rosen chirps, bringing my focus back to his charming self.

Hello, Mr. Rosen, how are you this evening? I ask, trying to shake off the effect that this faceless man has already had on me.

Please, dear, call me Ed; you should know that by now! he says playfully.

Okay, okay, I give in. Ed, I have your evening medications for you, the chuckle leaves me easily. What can a girl say? His enthusiasm always brings it out the best.

Have you picked up ‘Jane Eyre’ yet? he inquires quizzically. Here comes the third degree.

"Now, Ed, are we